


Enough Shovels of Earth Gives You a Mountain

by 3988Akasha



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/pseuds/3988Akasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris hates Zach's hat. It has to go. Noah gets blamed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough Shovels of Earth Gives You a Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Alanndra

*          *          *   Today - Evening   *           *          *

_“What are you wearing?”_

Zach pulled the phone away from his ear, glanced down at the caller ID, smiled and pulled the phone back up to his ear.

“Christopher.”

_“Don’t screw with me, Zachary. What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Wearing?”_

Perturbed by how easily Chris had managed to send his libido into palpations, Zach shook his head dejectedly. While he did avoid obvious forms of seduction with his heterosexual Adonis friend, Zach was a mere mortal and having one Christopher Pine practically growl slightly suggestive questions at him was quite simply unfair.

“Chris, we’ve discussed this.”

_“Quinto – I buried the thing! Fucking buried it!”_

“I remember. Noah still wears a morose expression anytime he hears a word beginning with a ‘c’ sound.”

_“You trained him to do it, Zach. Besides, if Noah were capable of human speech, he’d verbally bitch slap you for it as well.”_

“I did no such thing! Besides, I’m not the one who dug a hole in the ground.”

_“Neither was Noah.”_

“You allowed me to believe it was him. Chris, Noah’s a dog; dogs dig holes.”

_“Thank you, Dr. Doolittle.”_

“I hate how you’ve managed to make me regret having a key made for you.”

_“Zach, you’re the gay one, remember? So, if the non-fashionista in this situation claims it’s a bad idea…it’s a bad idea.”_

“The mere fact that you used the term ‘fashionista’ clearly shows your ineptitude when it comes to matters of popular dress.” And questions your sexual orientation, Zach added mentally. “Furthermore, it’s not a bad idea.”

_“This isn’t over yet, Zach.”_

Before he could respond, Zach forced himself to calm down. The thought of Chris doling out some form of punishment, or seeking further retribution had him too flustered for his public location. For several, eternal, seconds, he concentrated on his deep breathing. He then quickly analyzed many scenarios in which he would force Chris into situations that would elicit such “growly” responses without seeming obtrusive. He was only human.

“Chris, I will not allow you to engage in any further attempts to destroy it. You may endanger the delicate psyche of my dog forever.”

_“Then you should’ve left it buried.”_

 

*          *          *   Three Days Ago   *            *          *

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Chris commanded Noah.

As expected, the dog continued to give him the longsuffering look. Chris tried to switch his focus to his high task. At least, he tried to view it in an altruistic light. He was doing it for the greater good, for the sanity of the human race, for the betterment of his friend, for – damn it, he was doing it so he wouldn’t have to spend another second looking at the ugly ass thing. Altruism be damned. The damn thing just had to go. It was a wonder the guy had _any_ photos floating around online. How could anyone possibly find him attractive with that – thing on his head? Even if he was Zachary Fucking Quinto. Honestly, no man should ever be that attractive.

Sadly, his impromptu trip over to Zach’s hadn’t been with nefarious intentions. Zach had left a book for him on the coffee table, and told him to stop by and pick it up at some point. Which is precisely what Chris had done. Unfortunately, as soon as he’d entered the room _it_ practically molested him from where it’d been forgotten, or perhaps not forgotten, on the couch. As if spurred to action by some higher power, Chris felt compelled to remove the odious object from the room.

“That’s why I’m out here,” Chris explained to Noah. “It’s for his own good.”

Noah tilted his head. Either to question why the human thought the dog would understand English, or to express his disbelief over Chris’ intentions. Probably a bit of both.

“Stop that.”

When Chris began to dig the hole, Noah bounded over, his nose knocking more of the dirt back into the hole than necessary and began barking. It was as if the dog _knew_ what Chris was doing and could somehow communicate with his master about Chris’ actions. The very last thing he needed was to have Noah alert Zach, and have Zach materialize out of thin air to give him that “I’m very disappointed in you, Christopher” look that only Zach and his mother had managed to perfect.

“Stop barking, Noah,” Chris commanded. “The only reason you like the thing is because it would be an amazing chew toy and since Zach likes you more than he does _it_ , you’d be safe from harm if you managed to ingest the whole thing.”

Noah barked.

“Fine, you’d probably be safe from harm.”

Knowing now why people must think him clinically insane, Chris shook his head, but stubbornly continued to dig the hole. After a few minutes, he looked down at his hands. They were filthy, mostly black, and he might have broken a fingernail. Someone was going to kill him before Zach, probably someone in the makeup department. Maybe that was a more agreeable proposition than having Zach kill him. While it would have been more prudent to use say a shovel to dig the hole, the entire exercise was spur of the moment, so digging the hole with his hands had seemed sensible at the time. Although, in the harsh sunlight of sanity, the entire scheme seemed a bit asinine to him. With a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, Chris stood up, wiped his hands on his jeans, pulled _it_ out of his pocket, dropped it in the hole, tilted his head to the side, and examined his handiwork.

“Could be worse,” he told Noah.

Understandably upset that a biped had usurped his territory, Noah reclaimed his area by urinating in the hole.

With a groan, Chris closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Quinto’s never going to understand this.”

 

*          *          *   Two Days Ago  *               *          *

 

“Chris?” Zach called out as he walked unannounced into Chris’ trailer.

Distractedly, Chris looked up from his worn copy of _Middlemarch_ and gave Zach a smile. “Hey, man.”

“It’s gone,” Zach practically whined. Normally, he kept such obnoxious behaviors to himself, but Chris was the most sympathetic to his occasional happy-go-lucky mood lapses.

“It?”

“Yes, you know what I’m talking about! It’s been missing for a couple of days now, and I’m worried. It’s my favorite.”

“Have you named it yet?”

Zach opened his mouth to rail against Chris’ uncanny ability to exploit his quirks, but closed his mouth quickly because Chris _knew_ Zach had named it.

“Zach,” Chris began, his tone only partially patronizing, “We’ve discussed this before, at length. We really need to wean you off emotional attachments to inanimate objects.”

“This isn’t just any inanimate object, Chris,” Zach snapped. “It is an extension of myself.”

“Don’t start with that inner chakra yoga nonsense. Drink your soy latte and eat your free-spirited tofu somewhere else. I went to Berkley, man, and if I think your obsession with maintaining the balance of your inner whatever’s are above and beyond, it’s a sign to let – it – go.”

“But, Chris, it’s a part of me. Are you seriously suggesting I remove a part of myself…simply by, how did you phrase it – letting it go?”

“Zachary,” Chris began, and grinned like an idiot when Zach grimaced at his tone, “Are _you_ suggesting a part of you is so hideously grotesque that it must be burned at the stake faster than a Salem witch?”

“Burned?” Zach cried, terrified. When he saw the devilish glint in Chris’ too blue eyes, Zach wanted to curse and kiss him…maybe more like kiss, curse, make-up kiss. The boy was clearly enjoying his near breakdown. It was, well, it was hot as hell in an annoyingly annoying way. “There is nothing ‘hideously grotesque’ about me. Nothing requiring murder based solely upon superstitious fear in the name of religious fanaticism at least.”

“Have you seen _it_?”

“Yes! Well, not in the past two days, but yes. I have seen it. Point of fact: not seeing it has caused me deep, metaphysical angst.”

“This is why we are not allowing you to name things anymore, Zach.”

 

*          *          *   Yesterday   *          *          *

 

Zach wandered around the patch of “yard”, carefully noting where Noah had been. It wouldn’t do for him to have the neighbors complaining about doggie droppings to anyone. Of course, Noah wanted to be involved in whatever game Zach happened to be playing because in dog terms, being outside with a human automatically meant game. Once the _Canis lupus familiaris_ ascertained that Zach was not in fact participating in any sort of game, Noah happily wandered around the yard.

“Noah!” Zach exclaimed. “We don’t dig. It’s horrible for your nails, and the neighbors won’t appreciate holes in the yard.”

Typically, the canine would at least acknowledge his master’s voice, but at this particular moment, Noah determinedly continued to dig. Zach used his obnoxiously long legs to traverse the yard in quick, long strides. As he bent over to pick up the dog, Zach noticed a piece of something sticking out of the hole. Gingerly, after all, who knew what his quadruped friend would find to burry in the yard, Zach pulled the piece of – cloth? - out of the ground. His eyes widened as he shook clumps of dirt loose from the material; it couldn’t be…Noah wouldn’t possible bury it. The reality of the situation, however improbable, was that his dog had in fact buried it.

“Hey,” Chris called.

Zach offered some vague greeting in return without taking his eyes off the precious piece of material in his hands.

Concerned about his good friend, Chris walked over to where Zach stared at the ground as if it held the secrets to the universe. He placed his hand on Zach’s shoulder, and peeked over to see what had his friend so captivated.

“Shit,” Chris whispered. “I’m sorry, man.”

As if noticing his presence for the first time, Zach’s eyes swiveled to him. The laser beam accuracy of his look seared a path straight to Chris’, weak but present, conscious.

“I just can’t believe he would do this,” Zach whispered, broken. “I give him love, and that non-fat food so he can keep his trim figure…but maybe he’s simply acting out, maybe he needs to exert his – his – damn it! Why would he do this? He knows how much I love it.”

As if knowing he was the topic of conversation, Noah padded his way over to the pair and jumped up, his front paws landing right above Chris’ knee. Absently, Chris stroked the dog’s head.

“I shouldn’t take this so personally, I know. You’re going to regale me with yet another well-intentioned diatribe on placing distance between oneself and one’s inanimate objects.”

Chris turned Zach around to face him, effectively knocking Noah off balance. As if sensing a non-existent dismissal, the dog trotted off to find a better location and perhaps some more attentive humans.

“I’m not going to say any of that,” Chris told his friend sincerely. “And _diatribe_ , really? My eloquent, though impassioned, speeches are for your benefit, my friend. If you would listen to them once in a while, we might be able to avoid scenes like this in the future.”

“But, Chris,” Zach whined. “It’s my favorite!”

“And now, it’s in a hole and covered with dirt and God knows what else,” Chris told him artlessly.

“I can wash it. It will be good as new!” Zach exclaimed.

If he were a straight man, Chris would have been waiting for the touchdown, football spike. But, since Zach was not straight, there was no end-zone spikage.

“Dude,” Chris began, “you can’t be serious. You’re going to wash it and then place it back on your head?”

Zach leveled Chris with a look that would have melted a lesser man into a pile of ash, or at least forced him to say: “Please eat my brain gently, Mister Sylar.”, but Chris was not a lesser man. Even if he did flinch – a little. In fact, just to exert his testosterone fueled man-ness, Chris tilted his head defiantly, and held Zach’s gaze until the older man broke eye contact.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Zach gasped. “I was actually considering placing that now mangy thing back on my head. Chris, I was – ”

“Stop,” Chris commanded. “No need to hyperventilate or see if you can spike your blood pressure to astronomical numbers…not over _it._ ”

“Why do you say it like that?” Zach asked. “It’s really not so bad, and I do believe the inflection you give to the word might be enhancing your distaste.”

“No man, it’s not my inflections. And the inflections aren’t intentional. The damn thing causes a ping in my medulla oblongata and the inflection is the result.”

“You need better control over yourself.”

“You need better fashion sense for a gay guy.”

“You seem to be the only one so deeply affected by the garment.”

“Your dog seems to share my sentiment.”

“What?”

“Noah totally peed on it.”

 

*          *          *   Today - Morning   *           *          *

 

“Hey man,” Chris greeted into his phone.

_“How did you know Noah peed on it, Christopher?”_

Chris gulped. It was never a good sign when Zach used his full name. “He’s a dog, Zach. Dogs pee on things.”

_“You specifically said he urinated on it. How could you possibly have known that?”_

“It was just a guess, Zach. Relax.”

_“Now you lie to me? I cannot believe you would do this to poor Noah. Make him take the punishment you deserve.”_

Punishment? Chris had a difficult time imagining Zach punishing that dog for anything. Based on Zach’s lethal tone of voice, his assumptions may have been misguided. “I told you the thing needed to go.”

_“So you took it upon yourself to remove it from my home and then proceeded to bury it in the backyard?”_

“Did you watch another Matlock marathon?”

_“What? No.”_

“Maybe I did, but Zach, the thing had to go.”

_“You let Noah urinate on it!”_

“What exactly was I supposed to do? I would think yelling at your dog for relieving himself would be against your ‘don’t kick the puppy’ mentality.”

_“I wouldn’t want you to hurt Noah, but did you have to just stand by and watch while he defiled it forever?”_

“So, that means you’re not going to simply wash it and place it back upon your impeccably groomed head?”

_“No amount of washing, or bleaching, or deep cleansing would ever eradicate what you allowed to happen to it.”_

“Wow, someone is feeling a wee bit dramatic, don’t you think? You make it sound as though I forcibly removed your virtue, dug a hole, tossed it in, forced Noah to ‘defile’ it, and then covered up the whole thing with more dirt.”

_“A bit of an embellishment, but the sentiment seems true enough.”_

“Zach, look. I’m sorry it upset your inner person or whatever that hippie yoga crap is. I shouldn’t have done it, but I did. It is now gone forever. Move on. Name a new inanimate object, that always makes you feel better.”

_“Don’t try to ameliorate me. You simply want me to name a new object for you to desecrate.”_

“No, I don’t. I want you to feel less off balance. It’s just a hat.”

_“It was not just a hat. I will get even, then my balance will be returned. Just you wait, Chris Pine.”_

“Isn’t that line supposed to go, ‘just you wait Henry Higgens’?”

_“You have no right to impersonate either Audrey or Rex.”_

“I have an excellent singing voice.”

_“I look better in heels”_

“Did you think I’d fight you on that one, Quinto?”

 

*          *          *   Today - Afternoon   *        *          *

 

Chris looked down at his buzzing Blackberry. There was a picture text message from Karl waiting for him.

**Thought you might want to see these. – K**

Chris scrolled through the pictures of Zach, not really understanding what the big deal was until –

“Shit!”

There were two photos of Zach wearing a white, screen printed t-shirt. In large, bulky letters, the front proudly read:

“Chris Pine, defiler of fug hats since 2007”

 

The second photo showed the same god-awful text, but read:

“Yep, he’s just that in to them.”

 

As if the image seared into his cranium could get any worse, Zach was wearing another, uglier fug hat and a grin, the likes of which were the Cheshire cat’s wet dream. 

**~FIN~**


End file.
